


Sleepwalker

by Dance_Elle_Dance



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Protectiveness, Romance, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 14:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4710092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dance_Elle_Dance/pseuds/Dance_Elle_Dance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows he watches her while she sleeps. She chooses not to address it, because, frankly, she likes the feeling of protection it gives her. (Originally posted on 9/24/10.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepwalker

**Author's Note:**

> Re-post of another DamonBonnie. I really enjoy writing these two. Thanks for reading!

Bonnie knows he's there.

It's not as if he's too incredibly stealthy about it.

She knows he could be more discreet if he wants, but somehow, he prefers to let her hear his breaths, the slight way the boards of her floor creak underneath his shoes, the slight whooshing sound as he expels a sigh.

She just pretends to sleep.

She doesn't know why. A part of her wants to rise from her slumber and angrily tell him that she's no Bella Swan and that she doesn't like creepy, stalker vampires watching her while she sleeps.

But another part of her wants to submit to it, and she does. ( _At least for the moment,_ she tells herself.)

So, Bonnie says nothing, momentarily enraptured by the thought that a guy - even though he's something she hates the most - has taken interest in her. Has taken such an interest in her that he feels the need to watch over her while she sleeps. Like some kind of silent, statuesque gargoyle, chiseled from the finest stone. Un-aging. Ever present.

She actually tries to sleep, but cannot grasp it, though unconsciousness calls out to her so. She turns and twists and writhes in her bed, and she can hear that the elder Salvatore is still in the room, his breathing slightly harder than usual.

Maybe, he knows that she is aware of his little stunt.

She has no idea why she thinks that, but something about this whole thing seems contrived. Maybe he wants her to know that he is looking out for her. Maybe he wants her to know that because he knows it would aggravate the hell out of her.

Because, after all, she's perfectly good at protecting herself, _thank you very much, Mr. Salvatore._

Every now and then, she hears him cross the space in her room to the old rocking chair, and just sit there. The creaking of the boards as he rocks in the chair causes her to reluctantly turn over in her supposed sleep, and she lets out a breath. The groaning of the boards stirs a memory within her - when she was small and her grandmother would rock her to sleep in that very chair. The pain of that memory hits her full force, and she fights back a choked breath.

The groans from underneath the rocking chair are a soothing salve to her wounds, despite the fact that the very essence of everything she hates is sitting right there - it should be almost blasphemous, she feels, but she can't bring herself to change anything at this moment.

Because, frankly, she's enjoying it too much.

Bonnie rolls over to her back now, placing her hand above her head, while the other one stays put on her flat stomach. The soft rocking floods her ears, and now she's pretty sure he knows she's awake.

He still doesn't leave.

Despite the soothing, familiar sound of her old rocking chair, Bonnie can't go to sleep. She feels like she couldn't, even if she tries her hardest. Maybe Damon has that effect on people - like making them lose sleep over him.

"Am I disrupting you?" Damon's voice is cool and collected, breaking the silence around her.

Bonnie doesn't sit up. She just groans and rolls over furiously to her stomach, shoving her arms beneath her pillow. Her hair fans out around her features, covering her eyes. "You're _always_ a disruption."

His soft chuckling breaks through the night air around them, and it reluctantly causes shivers to erupt over her skin, prickling the hairs on her neck and arms. Damon feels amused by her, and that is one of the reasons why she thinks he's always there. Another reason, Bonnie rationalizes, is that he just loves to piss her off.

Any other reason would be ludicrous, she knows.

She doesn't want to admit that it would be a nice surprise if there was another reason.

The rocking continues, and a cozy, warm feeling envelops Bonnie, delving straight into the marrow of her bones. She finds herself feeling sleepier than she'd been in a while, finds that her eyes are having trouble staying open. Finds that she's enjoying the fact that he's watching her, again, with much dismay. Finds that she doesn't feel like fighting right at the moment.

_Next time,_ she tells herself. _Next time._

Before she finally fades into sleep for good, she hears Damon mutter something. Something that she would've rather not have heard, but it enters her ears nonetheless, giving her a slight jolt in the cloud of sudden sleepiness.

"Seems like watching you is the only way I'm able to relax."

A slight feeling of elation goes through her. She doesn't know why, but maybe this is part of her lucid dreaming. Maybe she's imagining everything about this, and Damon is using that to his advantage, thinking that she won't remember the next day. But she tries her hardest to cling to that simple statement.

"It helps me…to know you're okay."

That sentence, more shocking than the last, is almost enough to bring her back to the brink of consciousness, but somehow, she feels like a lead weight swathed in the thickness of her comforter. She is useless right now, especially for smart retorts and searing denial. The lethargy overcomes her, and strangely, she feels like this may be the most comfortable she's ever been since her grandmother's passing.

She finds a deep, peaceful slumber to the faint sounds of the rocking chair and Damon's light breathing.

That night, Bonnie dreams that she feels no hatred toward him, and she spends her time lost in the bluest of eyes.


End file.
